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On Monday, I spent the first half of the actual Labor day, walking around with a pretty girl that I fancy. We ran an early morning errand together. We walked a bit and then had lunch together. I had a lovely salad with chicken bits in it. She ate ribs and a few french fries. (As she smartly put it, "It's an American holiday. What foodstuff is more American than steak or ribs?")
In the tiny little restaurant on Halstead street where we ate, there was only her and me, another couple and our waitress. It was pretty empty for a noontime meal. She finished her lunch early and then excused herself to step outside for a post-lunch smoke. She immediately set up camp outside the window I was facing and began to stare me down, while I ate. (Such a flirty girl.)
I turned to my right, to avoid her eye contact. She walked down a few steps and met my eyes again.
I turned to my left, to face the other way and she walked over there to stare me down again. (Such a clever girl.)
To the left, though, there was signage in the window that blocked her off, from the shoulders up. When she leaned over to look at me, I smiled and waved her to stand back up, giving me a perfect view of her chest and belly and tight, little bottom. She laughed a laugh that I couldn't hear and then as a joke, grabbed her boobs a bit. A playful tug. Which made me laugh, too.
And then she started to do a little dance.
Sort of a shimmy and a wiggle and a slide. Her head was still obscured, so she launched herself off of that cliff, taking it on faith that I was still onboard with her. And I was. I nibbled the fresh bread and sipped my tea and watched her make slow circles out there. Her back turned towards me and she shook her hips for me, a little bit. She danced like Mrs. Mia Wallace in Pulp Fiction. A lot of style, conveyed in a few, small movements. A pretty girl showing off a bit, for some lucky guy. In this case, me.
I was so much enjoying what I was seeing that I didn't hear the guy addressing me. The other lunchtime customer, there with his ladyfriend, had seen my friend and I guess they were discussing it with each other. I guess something in the frivolous nature of her playful display upset this guy and he needed to confront me about it. Maybe he expected me to be embarrased and to call this all to a halt.
"Excuse me, friend! Excuse me," he barked. I turned and looked over at him," What is your friend doing there?"
I looked back at her, lazily, and confirmed that she was still dancing and she was. I looked back at him and said, "Well, She's dancing. On the Sidewalk. Is that a problem for you?"
As if it was the most natural thing in the world.
As if he was an idiot for asking for what was plainly visible.
"No. No. I was just... ah... curious. Thank you." and he went back to his meal and I went back to watching my friend end her little dance and her cigarette. She put it out and came inside, smiling devilishly. I quietly applauded her and said, "Very nice."
I paid the tab and we left together. On my way out, I made eye contact with Mr. Curious and said, "You two have a nice lunch now, y'hear?" and then left. Off to some other adventure with this little gal.
It felt good to flex my muscles a little bit. To back up my friends play like that. To be unapologetic in our behaviors. To live a little bit, and to let the spectators work out the explanations for themselves later. That is a life lived well.
Cheers,
Mr.B
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